A Wound To Heal
by zerokanda
Summary: PreSlash. HPDM ficlet. Narcissa has fled and left Draco subject to the tortures of madman Lucius Malfoy. Harry visits Draco in the Hospital Wing when they get back to school, prompted by Madam Pomfrey. After war, not epilogue-compliant.


**Title: **A Wound to Heal

**Disclaimer: **This is called _Fan_Fiction for a reason.

**Warnings: **language, some torture

**Summary: **Back at Hogwarts to make up for the year he lost searching for Horcruxes, Harry Potter has lots on his mind, but the NEWTs are practically the least of his concerns.

**A Wound to Heal**

The war had driven Lucius mad, specifically when he saw the embodiment of power and pride fall in the final battle, when Voldemort flaked to nothingness.

Life was far from easy, what with Malfoy practically spending his entire life in the Hospital Wing, with Madam Pomfrey fussing over him every now and then, whispering with what he felt was a sympathetic voice, "poor child". Pity was the one thing he needed little of, but that didn't mean he hadn't appreciated the concern the woman granted him. It had been a long time since he had company that didn't comprise solely of a madman bent on tormenting him, inch by inch until there was nothing left of him.

It was one of those times when he had tired of listening to books he had tapped with his wand to read-aloud, and had decided to place his feet on the ground, and splay his hands on the cool glass of the windows, leaning till his forehead touched the cool material. It was times like this, when he could imagine the chirp of birds outside, the green of the grass on uneven gardens, the chatter of students that were free from fear of the past at present, the sky that had taken on the bluest kind of blue, with shadows from the giant white clouds that he lets his breaths come in pants, nose wrinkling slightly in a struggle to control his negative emotions, knowing whatever Father had subjected him to was likely never going to allow him to see all of that again.

The cautious thud of a shoe alerted him of a presence behind him, likely nearer to him then he'd have liked, judging by the sound of that thud.

"Leave. Hasn't Madam Pomfrey said I was to have no visitors?"

Harry managed to keep a tone of light and cheerful converse, "want to go outside?"

"What part of leave do you not understand?" Draco chose that moment to whirl around, trying to see the expression of the intruder he knew was Potter, only to flush when he realised that was a dumb move to make for someone blind. He cast his empty gaze downwards, hoping Potter hadn't seen what was wrong with him.

_Potter and his stupid, stupid voice. Chirpy and annoying like that stupid bird outside._

"The sun's pretty good for a walk, Malfoy," the Gryffindor continued as if there had been no interruption, getting close enough to gently catch his right hand, one that had already clenched tightly to form a fist.

_So Potter had come to _mock_ him._

What happened next took all the control Draco could muster, as he gritted out the words as calmly as he could, keeping his face neutral even as he looked up to the direction where Potter's voice had floated from, "you can clearly see for yourself that I can't. Now. Go. Away."

"Malfoy." Softer this time.

Hating what he assumed was pity in Potter's voice, Malfoy put his hand out, feeling for the bed post he knew was right beside him, before sitting down stubbornly, crossing his arms and turning his face back to where he knew the window likely was.

"I'm tired. Now go away, Potter."

A small sigh and resounding footsteps told him that the Chosen One had indeed given up, but little did he know how the glee he felt was going to end, soon enough.

Day after day, the insolent prat had made his unwelcome self present in the empty and quiet Hospital Wing, disturbing its tranquility and talking to Malfoy as if he wasn't talking to the air.

Draco was less than inclined to give him any response at all, pressing his lips into a thin line and turning away whenever he heard the intruder make his presence known. It had been strange enough when he heard Madam Pomfrey's explanation for allowing the brash Gryffindor git to roam the Hospital Wing even though he had clearly indicated that he didn't want a single visitor.

Their rivalry was 'good for him' as Pomfrey had suggested, and Draco wasn't sure at all what she meant since all Potter's done so far was to annoy him to no end. He hadn't spoken for the entire week Potter had tried to initiate a conversation, which had fallen back every single time, without fail, into a monologue. Potter was not to be daunted, as it seemed. He would bring random objects in and leave them at the table at the foot of his bed. Sometimes it was a chocolate frog or a brilliant toffee from the twin Weasels' shop. Not that he told Harry the toffee was brilliant of course, or that he ate it. Another time it had been a Pygmy Puff, a miniature Puffskein he couldn't see, even though he actually rather did want to see what it was like, after Potter had left it on his bed to roll around and squeak like a damn ferret. He had dropped it off in a rush, stating that it was from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and that it was a puffball that was an amazing royal purple, then hastily excused himself because he had overslept and hadn't wanted to be late for Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration.

It was in the evening when Harry had visited again, with some kind of chocolate treacle he said he got from the Kitchens, and Draco could hear the shrug in his voice as he left the food there, and asked how the company of the Pygmy Puff was.

Draco had worn something close to a beam for him, cupping the puffball in his hands, and it was only when Potter had cleared his throat almost nervously that Malfoy let his face fall back into a blank slate again. His control of his emotions seemed to have dwindled. But it must have been caught by that dumb Gryffindor prick because the next moment, Harry perked up.

"So you _do_ enjoy its company after all."

Putting down the puffball he had decided to name Potterpuff, he smirked demurely behind a hand, and replied with a feigned nonchalance.

"Yes, I do oh-so-greatly enjoy _Potterpuff's_ company. Much more than yours, I'm afraid."

There was a predictable spluttering of outrage.

"Potterpuff? _Really_, Draco? There are other ways to appreciate my significance other than naming a puff after me, you know."

Now it was Draco's turn to splutter. Muttering darkly, he sulkily spat back an insult, and the banter began.

"Idiot."

"Fool."

"Sly git."

"Prat."

"Buffoon."

"Bigot."

"Slytherin."

"That's not an insult, you _Gryffindor_!"

"Goober, then!"

Draco snorted.

"What the hell is goober? Knucklehead."

The names didn't stop for a long time, and when it did, both boys wore some kind of a triumphant grin, neither willing to back down, both pleased with themselves and delusioned into thinking they won. Even as Harry left, a practically silent murmur of 'see you tomorrow' rang in his head.

* * *

><p>It must have been a strange sight, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater, sitting under a large oak tree, enjoying the shade it provided them as they breathed in the aroma of green grass after a night of rain, munching on apples. Draco had awoken to a relatively fine day, a sweet fragrance of sliced apples assaulting his sense. Languidly, he stretched his arms and arched his back trying to rid the knot between his shoulder blades. There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a licking of lips followed by a soft gulp, but even before he had time to contemplate <em>anything<em> at all, he had been tugged unceremoniously off the bed by a gentle but firm grip on his forearms, and even though the touch on his skin rang alarm bells in his head, he succumbed when he figured it was just the Gryffindor up to his usual tricks again.

"Harmless bit of fun" was what Harry had called it, as he shut Draco in changing area with what he was sure weren't his own clothes, likely Muggle clothes the Gryffindor thinks he would wear. Draco sniffed. He really hadn't wanted to wear the set of clothes but it seemed impossible with Potter's relentless nagging and threats to lock him in a toilet for the rest of his life. It had succeeded anyhow, because Draco stepped out in the plain long pants and vest worn over a plain white-collared shirt, and Harry received a loud smack to the back of his head when his fingers rested on Draco's elbow to steer him clear from obstacles in their path. Or maybe the resounding smack came because Draco could feel the splitting grin on his face, somehow. _Maybe_.

So they ended up sitting on the grass, Draco with his legs crossed royally while Harry just sludged around against the tree, one leg straight out while the other curled underneath it.

A snort.

Harry turned to face Draco, by now knowing that the grumpy snort meant Draco was about to complain about something.

"You're crossed," Harry stated.

Draco gave a defensive tilt of his chin, "I can't see anything you know, there really was no need to get me out here."

"And leave you to the peace of the Hospital Wing—

"Exactly." The word came out more smug then Draco had meant it to, but that was okay because he was _right_. And he reveled in that fact. Childish glee bubbled its way up from his gut to his chest, like a warmth that couldn't be held down until someone gave a bark of laughter and _flicked his forehead_. Malfoy scowled immediately, hand rising to catch the wrist of the stupid dork who had the chutzpah to flick his forehead. He did catch the culprit, but Harry only nudged him by the side so that he tumbled sideways into the grass. More laughter followed, this time an infectious chuckle that left Harry gasping for breath.

"Not funny, Potter!"

"It would've been if you'd seen your fac—

There was a jolt as Harry stopped in his words, inhaling sharply then cursing too low for Draco to catch his colourful swearing. Draco only dusted himself off, ridding his shirt of stray bits of grass, as he intoned calmly, almost as if he hadn't caught the pause.

"It was Father."

The silence that followed was a brief one, as Draco pulled himself upright, back into his original sitting position, except this time he chose to lean more on the arm beside his, while resting his back on the relatively smooth bark of the tree.

* * *

><p>There was nothing Draco could do but indulge his father when Lucius demanded him to down the vile liquid. He could only accept the knowledge that the decline and gradual annihilation of the Dark Lord had done something irrevocably wrong to Father's sanity as he caved in to Lucius' cruel tortures time and again. The excruciating humiliation was one thing Father had never ceased to inflict upon him, as if he was at fault for every wrong that could have led to the Dark Lord's demise.<p>

Draco had been forced to his knees with a vial of potion that was strangely odourless, even though the content itself was murky, thick, goo of blood-red with wisps of violet appearing at the surface now and then. He felt some strength sapping away from him, and allowed his knees to give way and meet the ground instead. The basic principle of any Potions brewer would be to ensure that they never underestimated the abilities of a potion, but Draco could hardly blame himself for the skip his heart had made when Father called him into the Dungeon of Malfoy Manor, not with rage crackling in his eyes or magic billowing about him, but with an odd calm and potion held gingerly by the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

Until the throbbing started.

_He crawled forwards on quivering hands and knees, shaking as he tried, in pain, to rasp out a weak "Father", but Lucius had paid no heed. His attention was elsewhere as his eyes stared glassily at Draco, as if he could not fathom why his son was so disobedient._

"_I said, Draco, kiss the hem of my robes!"_

_There was nothing else Draco could do but swallow his pride and the damn pain that seared along the entire left of his flank. It hadn't ended there; in fact, the laceration had extended, bit by bit in the most agonizing manner, all the way to his knee. The wound itself was bad enough, messy as it was and dripping blood, but no, Father had to cast a Stinging Hex and a Burning Spell in the deepest of the wound, not a single muscle in his face moving, even as his own son threw his head back and screamed himself hoarse. His shoulder twitched spasmodically as the pain tingled up and down, and he made his way to the very edge of sanity._

_He caught the hem of Father's expensive robe, and kissed it._

_There was nothing but humiliation when his Father responded with a satisfied 'hmph', and a kick to his side, the one where the cut was, earning a yelp that died down to a pitiful whimper as Draco clutched at his ribs, the area right before the flesh had mangled, staring after Father's retreating back. Reaching deep into his split robe for the wand he'd hidden in case he met with a situation like this, Draco tried his best to still his trembling hand, and muttered a firm "Vulnera Sanentur", only for the wound to knit slightly, allowing much of the blood to continue flowing. The blond let his head fall back onto the cold stone floor, sticky with his own blood. The coppery scent of his own blood wafting through his nose was far from his mind as he figured Father had probably added some sort of curse so that the spell did nothing more than knit his wounds slightly._

_A grunt. Lucius would have wanted him to bear the scar in some sort of perverse fantasy. Of course._

Draco had been content with the dull ache that started within his bones, thinking it was a minor ill-effect of the potion he had downed, until the ache turned into a full-blown throbbing that pulsed through his body, igniting a severe discomfort that pushed to the front of his mind. The back of his eyes began to smart. It was like a malady actively attacking him from inside. When inky black darkness spread across his sight and completely blotted out his vision, Draco thought Father had cast a Blinding Curse, but would Father want his eyes permanently destroyed? Maybe it was a simpler Blinding Jinx added on to that potion that was going to give him a migraine if it didn't cease its throbbing fast enough.

Maybe counting to ten would help. But even before he had started his counting, the back of his eyes stung, really stung and there was nothing he could do but let loose an unearthly scream as he felt an unknown force pressing harder and harder against the back of his eyeballs, scratching and gouging at his eyes, as if trying to convince the tissues to be pushed out of their rightful place in their sockets. Flames engulfed him as he fought against the temptation to thrash wildly and call Father for help. Lucius was likely watching and would not want any undignified hollering for him in any case, and that got Draco to curl up in a fetal position, digging his elbows into his ribs and stuffing then curling his fingers in his mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that he was making.

The tell-tale click of the dungeon door told him all he needed to know. Lucius Malfoy was satisfied with whatever shit he had done and was effectively tossing him to the side. This was likely a ploy to damage him, Draco thought drily, almost idly now that the pain was subsiding, then Lucius could throw him away and cast him out of Malfoy Manor altogether if he wanted to.

A faint tremor involuntarily passed through his torso now that he understood the full implications of his precarious situation. The letter from Hogwarts had come surprisingly late, but early enough for the students to return for the final year that was disrupted by the one of the largest wizarding battles in history. Lucius likely took this chance to destroy him before casting him off, back into school. It was as good as being disowned, to put it simply.

The worst humiliation for a Malfoy.

"Sick fuck."

The incredulity had stolen Draco's eloquence, as he scrunched up his nose and muttered an uncomprehending "what?"

"Your father."

This was met by a raised eyebrow, then a curt nod.

"No need to resort to such language, now. Who knew the Saviour of the Wi—

"He hurt you!"

"I thought that was settled, pretty much," Draco said drily, the other eyebrow shooting up to join the first.

* * *

><p>"You left me a flower."<p>

Draco's voice betrayed the surprise that wasn't shown on his face when Harry entered. There was a cough that he tried to decipher, and finally decided was one of embarrassment, but he couldn't help but prompt Harry further.

"So. A flower."

There was a sulky cluck of the tongue, as if Harry was annoyed that his grand, evil scheme hadn't worked, then a huff of irritance, "nice greeting, Draco."

Aforementioned stuck a tongue out, as if to scoff at the Gryffindor, but all that followed was a howl of amusement that was received with blinks and a failed sneer that Draco had directed at Harry. It seemed that he was losing his ability to ridicule the out-of-line Potter. A snuffle from the disappointed Draco earned a clap on the back. The Slytherin was genuinely baffled.

"As I was _saying_, the flower—

"Yes, yes, the flower I left in a jar here. It's an Eglantine, if you must know. A deciduous shrub native to Europe and Western Asia."

"Madam Pomfrey told me it's fluorescent pink."

_There goes the demand for an explanation._

"Ahh, so Madam Pomfrey gave it away. I thought I told her n—

Draco cleared his throat to interrupt rather pointedly, "I'll have you know, I'm not girly if t—

Harry released a profound sigh, and Draco knew, he just _knew_ Harry was shaking his head at him, likely to poke fun just for the sake of it. _Damn it._

* * *

><p><em>Two years later…<em>

Harry had looped his arm around Draco's, nuzzling into the soft skin of the blonde's neck, until a soft chuckle reached his ears. He looked up, and Draco gave him a playful shove.

"You never did tell me why the hell you gave me the Eglantine," Draco wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips, adding, "I never did like pink, you know."

Harry only pulled Draco closer, and leaned in.

When they parted, Harry clutched the Slytherin close to whisper into his ear, lips drawing in the sensitive lobe there, "it doesn't matter anymore."


End file.
